


Sweet As You

by monetrepreneur (orphan_account)



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Alcohol, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, challenge: Blue Christmeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:27:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3150587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/monetrepreneur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse and Jane bond over Christmas, eggnog, and singing boxer shorts. 'Tis the season, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet As You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rebness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebness/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, or should I say, Christmeth, Rebness! I hope you had a wonderful holiday and that you enjoy this little fic I 'cooked' up for you, so to speak. Happy holidays!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters portrayed, nor do I claim to. All rights go to the creators of Breaking Bad.

“So, what do you think of the tree?”

Jesse couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a Christmas tree. He’d thought of it, of course, but after he’d moved out of his parents’ house, he just hadn’t had the time, or the patience, or the motivation. Why bother buying and putting up a tree you were just going to take down? Anyway, most Christmases since had been spent slinging, or using, or both. Either way, he’d been partying, and you definitely didn’t need a tree for that. Now, though, he regretted every year he’d gone without. The sweet, musky scent of pine needles filled his bedroom, otherwise sparse. The tree itself was anything but; draped in gold and crimson tinsel, twinkling gold lights, plump, festive baubles, and topped with a brassy-golden star, it was a shining beacon for everything Jesse craved. Hope, love, warmth.

And beside it, the physical embodiment of those: Jane, wearing a baggy, faded old t-shirt of his he’d been looking for just that morning, black underpants, and absolutely nothing else. In the candle-lit gloom, her raven hair shone, and you couldn’t even tell that it was grease and not gloss. Her porcelain skin, waxy and tired from endless nights spent shooting up, almost seemed to glow. She looked lovely, picturesque beside the tree. Like an angel, rather than a hopelessly addicted junkie scraping out the last dregs of a happy existence from the bottom of the barrel of life.

Then again, she’d always looked like an angel to Jesse.

When he didn’t answer – too busy checking out those mile-long legs of hers, barely containing his grin – she arched an eyebrow expectantly.

Jesse cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s uh, it’s cool yo. I can dig it,” he replied, too late. Jane just rolled her eyes and sat down on the mattress beside him, gracefully folding those long legs beneath her and snuggling into his shoulder. She smelled of cigarettes, cherry-flavoured Chapstick and burning. When they kissed, her lips soft and sweet between his, she tasted much the same.

They broke apart a moment later. Jane rested her head on his shoulder again, her cheek warm against the fabric of his stained sweatshirt. “You can dig it, huh?” she repeated, a smile in her voice as she stared at the tree.

“Yeah, totally. So, uh, does this mean we have to go, like, present shopping and shit?”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “I guess. It’s only the first week of December, though. Plenty of time till Christmas.” Jane’s hands twitched in her lap, bony fingers flipping about an unlit cigarette. Automatically, Jesse pulled a lighter from his jeans’ pocket, lighting her smoke with a practised hand that practically screamed, ‘I’ve done this a million times before.’

She nodded a thank you, taking a long pull from the cigarette and batting away the smoke daintily. Sitting up, she leaned over and tapped the light over the ashtray. Ash and butts overflowed onto the night stand, a stormy, stinking avalanche of decay. Jane shifted the needles – their precious needles – out of the way.

“Yeah, I know, it’s just – what’s the point of a tree with no presents under it?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s pretty to look at, I guess. ‘Tis the season and all. Whatever that means. Besides, maybe I’ve already got you a little something.” She broke off with a wink, taking another deep drag from her cigarette.

“What?” Jesse laughed, watching her keenly. “You’re kidding, right?”

She just shrugged again, smirking around her smoke. On the butt, she left behind a perfect, plum-pink lipstick print, bright against the white. Catching him watching her, she offered it to him. Her arm was trembling slightly, like she was too weak to hold up her own limb. “You want?”

“Sure.” Jesse took the proffered thing and scooted closer, slipping an arm around her waist. She fit like a missing puzzle piece, her cheek tucked snugly into his collarbone. He cradled her as gently as if she were an injured baby bird; he could feel every bone through the peach-fuzz softness of her skin, and they felt so frail he was almost worried they’d break at his touch. He could feel Jane’s heartbeat, drumming steadily against his side, and her black hair tickled his stubbly chin.

They sat like that for a while, passing the cigarette back and forth and trading tender, fleeting kisses. The tree twinkled, a silent, comforting third entity. Outside, an orchestra of crickets chirped. Somewhere, an owl joined in with a hoot. The night sky was the clearest it had been in weeks, sprinkled with silver stars and hung with a fat, bright moon that looked just like the baubles on their tree. A chill breezed through the apartment, creeping along the floor and probing at their bare skin, coaxing goosebumps from their flesh with icy fingers. There was no snow, not yet, but something in the frigid night air promised its arrival; it was only a matter of time.

“Yo, uh… you _were_ just kidding, right? About buying me a present already?”

“Why? Would it bother you if I had?” Jane tapped her smoke on the rim of the ashtray nonchalantly before giving him a playful shove.

“Nah, nah. I just, I don’t know… I feel kinda bad, you know? I hadn’t even thought about Christmas, like, _at all_ , and here you are already buying me presents and shit?”

“You know what, if it bothers you so much how about I call it an early Christmas present and give it to you now, and we can both start the real present shopping from scratch tomorrow, or something. Would that make you feel better?”

“Nah, it’s whatever, I just – hey, what are you –?”

Jane was kneeling on the floor, shoving a fist underneath the mattress and feeling about blindly, frowning in frustration when she didn’t immediately find whatever it was she was looking for. Then: “Ah ha! Gotcha.”

The package was creased, crumpled from their combined weights like it had been there for a while already. Wrapped in glossy red and white striped paper and topped with a flattened bow, it flopped about limply in her hands. She stared up at him with a cocky grin, her glassy hazel eyes alive and sparking with something uniquely Jane-like, something like… like _mischief_ , like an excited little kid who knows something you don’t, but doesn’t want to give the game away yet. Tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, she passed him the parcel, biting her lip to stifle a snicker. Flopping down heavily onto the bed next to him, nothing more than a bag of bones, she gave his shoulder a little nudge. “Go on, open it.”

“You, uh, you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of more of a joke, anyway. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Honestly, Jesse didn’t care what it was. It was just the fact that Jane had cared enough to get him something in the first place; he was just so grateful, so touched. Seriously. When was the last time someone had bought him an actual, honest-to-God Christmas present, anyway? Not counting a half a joint or a shared teenth from Badger or Combo or Skinny, of course. And _definitely_ not counting those lame ass ties his parents sent him every damn year. They used to send him money, cash or cheques, usually, and that had been great – fifty bucks went a long way toward another teenth, and was plenty enough for a little weed if he was feeling like something lighter. But eventually his parents had caught on and stopped sending the cash. Didn’t want to ‘feed his addiction’, as if he couldn’t stop at any time, as if he wasn’t being _completely_ safe. After that, they started sending him ties instead. Plain, checked, striped, polka-dotted. All kinds, and all lame as hell. They probably figured it’d encourage him to get a job, a real job, like a nine-to-five office gig or something. Yeah, right.

So, not counting those, it’d have to be… years, at least, since his last gift. He was determined to savour this, regardless of what was inside.

With bated breath, he carefully untied the bow, letting the crimson ribbon slither into his lap like a snake. He ran his thumbs along the underside of the wrapping paper, unsticking the tape gently.

Jane sniggered. Not unkindly, it was just… “Come on, we want this open _before_ Christmas, remember Jesse? Sometime this week would be good, at least.”

Jesse threw her a look, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, just give me a minute, alright?” Jane only smiled, that mischievous gleam dancing in her eyes as she took a last drag from their cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray. The embers glowed red-hot for a moment, then dimmed, suffocated in the sea of ash. It made Jesse want for a fire, a crackling, cheery crop of yellow flame sitting atop smouldering coals like the ones he’d sat in front of as a kid, eagerly tearing open present after present. Toy trucks, Lego blocks, pencils and coloured crayons, lumpy hand-knitted sweaters and socks from Aunt Ginny… none of that meant as much to him as the present sitting in his lap right now.

Well, except for maybe the socks. But that went without saying.

Jane blew her last lungful of smoke across the room towards the air filter, fanning it delicately. As Jesse continued to peel away the last strips of tape, she hummed a jaunty tune, something that sounded distinctly Christmas carol-y, and drummed her bare toes in time on the hardwood floor.

Jesse slipped his fingers underneath the thin, crinkled paper, lifted the candy-striped sheet back – and burst into laughter.

“Seriously?” he grinned, pulling out the boxers. Midnight blue, they were made of silky fabric patterned with merry-looking snowmen, pipes stuck haphazardly into their mouths, little tendrils of smoke curling around their heads like vines.

“Yes, seriously. Oh, and its gets better. Check this out, here –”

Jane leaned over and snatched the shorts out of Jesse’s hands. When she pressed a small, discreet button in the crotch, the underwear started singing a high, chiming _Jingle Bells_.

“See?” she laughed, flinging the now-silent singing boxers back into Jesse’s lap. “Aren’t they great? Just what you wanted, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jesse slung an arm around Jane’s neck, pulling her closer so the tips of their noses _just_ touched. He sighed contentedly, locking eyes with the smug, flushing face in front of him. He couldn’t remember the last time Jane had had _colour_ like this in her cheeks. It was… beautiful. And her eyes… they were filled with more stars than the night sky. “Well, thanks. I… I love it.” _I love you._

Jane pulled a face, like she’d tasted something several tablespoons of sugar too sweet, and made a retching nose. Then she chuckled. “Yeah, well,” she whispered, her gaze flickering down over his lips as she cocked her head. “They do bring out the blue in your eyes.”

“Ha, ha, ha.” Jesse poked her in the side before pressing his lips briefly to hers, his eyes fluttering shut. Then he sobered, gaze fixed on her lap, where he skimmed a hand over Jane’s thigh, tracing flowing lines and swirls into her skin. “You know, uh, I actually did buy something, like, s _easonal_ , it just isn’t a present, per say. And it’s kind of something you’re supposed to share.”

Jane raised her eyebrows. “Hmm?”

“Yeah, it’s uh, it’s a holiday drink. You know, that stuff they make out of eggs and shit? It’s, like, really sweet and kind of thick, like custard, and you drink it at Thanksgiving too?”

“Eggnog?”

“Yeah, eggnog, that’s it! But it’s uh, it’s non-alcoholic. I got rum in the fridge though, if you wanna…”

“Sure.” Jane stood up, already halfway across the room before Jesse had even finished his sentence. His now-empty arms fell limply back into his lap. Her voice echoed back to him from the hall. “In the fridge, you said?”

“Uh, yeah. In the fridge.”

“You know you’re not supposed to put rum in the fridge, right?” Jane called back. He could hear the tease in her voice; it was almost tangible.

“Whatever, yo. How was I supposed to know that?” Jesse replied defensively. He could hear her laughter all the way from the kitchen.

Rolling his eyes, he leaned back onto the bed. The mattress squawked in half-hearted protest under his weight. Slipping his beanie off his head and scrunching it into a ball, he tossed it away and rested his head on his empty hands. The singing boxers were a comforting weight on his thighs, provoking a chuckle from him at random intervals when he remembered them, the tree a silent guardian casting shadows and light in equal parts across his sprawled, skinny form, drowned in clothes three sizes too large.

Jane soon returned, a moist, light-coloured carton – the eggnog – clutched in two fingers on the one hand, a bottle filled with dark, amber-brown liquid – the rum – in three more. In the other hand, she carried two stout crystal glasses.

When he took the drink from her hands, the glass was chilled, cool from the refrigerated liquid that sloshed about inside it. Jesse’s fingers slipped on the condensation as he lifted it to his lips, pressing the rim against his mouth and gulping. It tasted sweet in his mouth, sickeningly so, and even sweeter when he tasted it on Jane’s lips a minute later.

Jane smiled mid-kiss, sweet, laughing breath ticking Jesse’s jaw as she pulled away. “Mmm, this stuff is sweet,” she murmured in that low, raspy way she had when she was sleepy, taking another long drink from her glass. “Did I mix it enough, you think? I mean, it’s just so…” She frowned. “Sweet.”

Jesse smiled, silent, and tucked a lock of oily black hair behind her ear, stroking her cheek tenderly with his thumb. She _had_ mixed it right – Jesse had tasted this stuff before. The sticky, sweet flavour lingered on his tongue and teeth, mingled with the sharpness of strong alcohol. Just like how it was supposed to be.

For a moment, Jesse imagined. Imagined Christmas, with Jane, like how it was supposed to be. Images flashed before his eyes like home movies: he and Jane, gift shopping, sifting through piles of ugly, garish Christmas sweaters and making a competition out of it, to see who could pick out the ugliest or the brightest, or the one with the most yellow. He and Jane, drinking eggnog by a roaring fireplace, or maybe hot cocoa. He and Jane, picking out the perfect tree for their high-ceilinged living room, throwing snowballs at one another, decorating a gingerbread house with coloured frosting and boiled candies, making snow angels.

And nowhere, not anywhere, was there a single needle. Not one to be found.

Because that wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

Then he leaned in, lips brushing against the shell of Jane’s ear, and whispered softly: “Yeah, well – not as sweet as you.”


End file.
